Getting To Know You
by iamtyping98
Summary: My stories for Fiddlestan Week 2k15! Follow Stan and Fiddleford as they get to know one another and just how their lives intersect. Expect fluff, angst, and general weirdness. (I'm new to this fandom and this pairing, so bear with me.) I hope you all enjoy! T for safety.
1. Music

**Music**

They said it could never happen. They said it was impossible. But then, it had happened: Stanley Pines had become _sick_ of television.

"Mabel, Sweetie, do we really have to watch this? What's left of my brain is starting to leak out of my ears."

"SHH! Quiet, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel urged as she worked to cross every appendage that she had. "They're almost back! We're finally gonna see the big moment!"

Just then the TV buzzed off of its commercial and blared, "And now, back to the Season Finale of _Women Fighting Each Other for a Chance to Marry a Total Stranger_!"

Mabel let out a cheer just loud enough to cover up her uncle's groan. Honestly, a bunch of ladies fighting for some guy they barely knew? Who _made_ this crap?

" _Sandra,"_ the man on the screen crooned, " _I know we've only known each other for a short time, but that's why I feel I have to tell you-_ YOU GET A THORN!" The man then proceeded to throw an oversized thorn at the female contestant, who began to sob as she ran offscreen.

"Not Sandra!" Mabel cried. "She was my favorite!"

Stan's only response was to let out another groan, this one directed at the world at large. It was accompanied by a shorter, squeakier groan, and Stan looked to see Dipper coming to join them.

"Hey there kid," he greeted his nephew as the boy flopped onto his stomach next to his sister. "How's the interrogation going?"

" _Iznot itergaton,"_ said Dipper, his reply muffled by a mouthful of carpet.

"You'll have to speak up," said Stan. "I'm going deaf from having to listen to your sister scream about this disgusting bastardization of both love and television."

"IT'S ROMANTIC!"

Ignoring Mabel's outrage, Dipper rolled over onto his back and grumbled, "It's not an interrogation. Grunkle Ford and I just thought that maybe if we worked together, we'd be able to help McGucket get some of his memories back."

"But?" Stan prompted.

"But…" Dipper allowed the word to hang in the air like a dead leaf, until finally letting out a faint sigh to knock it down.

"Yeah," Stan grunted, "that's about what I expected."

Dipper gave no reply, and Stan wondered if maybe he should've been nicer in his phrasing.

"It's not your fault Dipper," Mabel offered, though as a bit of an afterthought, as she was still entranced by her show.

"You could've helped you know," Dipper griped. "You get along with McGucket really well."

"Yeah," Mabel ceded, finally looking away from the TV long enough to meet her brother's glare. "I could have. But you know, Dipper, this is one of those things that I don't think we're supposed to rush. Like, we can try to make Mr. McGucket remember his past all we want, but he's still going to need some time. In the mean time…"

"We'd just be making things harder for him," Dipper finished for her. "I know."

Stan sat up straight in his easy chair and looked back and forth between the two kids, who were now both looking down at their hands, the TV long forgotten. They both looked so...crummy. It wasn't right, he thought. A couple of twelve-year-old kids didn't deserve to be this sad.

Damn it, he wasn't going to _let them_ be this sad!

"Alright, that's it," he announced, defiantly turning off the TV and hefting himself out of the chair. After a long day of doing tours, he'd been too tired to fully undress and was still wearing his white shirt and black pants. Once on his feet, he adjusted his fez, before making his way to the fish tank.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel crawled over to see what he was doing; the old man had opened one of the cabinets below the tank and was now rifling around in search of something. "What's up?"

"I'll tell you what's up," Stan replied as he pulled a large, dusty crate out from the back of the cabinet. "THESE are what's up!" He tossed the crate onto the chair, sending up a large cloud of dust. Once they were don coughing, the twins both got up to look into the crate.

"Wait...records?" Dipper asked, interested.

"Aren't these like the grandparents to CDs?" Mabel asked, flipping through the stack of old vinyls to read the covers.

" _These_ ," said Stan, "are history. An archive of some of the greatest music from the past couple of decades. I've got everything in there: Rock n Roll, Pop, Blues, R&B… Heck, I think I've even got some Bluegrass that I found when I first moved into the shack. You want a good time? Look in there!"

"These names are so weird," Mabel said in awe. "Bing Crosby, David Bowie, Art Garfunkel…"

"What's this one?" Dipper pulled a record out and and read the name on the cardboard sleeve. "Chubby...Checker?"

"Ah, here we go," Stan said, as he took the record from Dipper and went over to the old gramophone in the corner, a touch of excitement clear in his voice. "What better way to start things off than with one of the most iconic dance fads of the 60's?"

"Whoa, wait," Dipper protested, having caught on. "Dancing? You're gonna make us dance?"

"I don't mind dancing," Mabel put in, "but isn't this music, like, really old and boring?"

"First of all," Stan grumbled as pulled the record from the sleeve and set it up on the machine, "if you think this music is boring you've got another thing coming. Second, we're doing this because we could all do with a break from all the terrible stuff that's been happening."

After a pause he looked over his shoulder at the two kids and said, "I worry about you two, y'know? I want you to be happy and...stuff."

The twins shared a glance, before giving their uncle slight smiles. Stan gave them a half grin in return before setting the needle on the record. He turned around and said, "Third, children, we are not gonna dance. We are gonna _Twist!_ "

...

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket had never been much of a talker; but this was ridiculous.

Stanford Pines had been sitting across from, reading notes and eating a sandwich in dead silence for the past 10 minutes, and for the life of him, Fiddleford didn't know what to do.

The inventor looked down and picked some fuzz from the sweater vest Mabel had made for him - a really sweet gesture, that. Outside the sky was turning a pale shade of gray, and the clouds were gathered in close. He let out a small sigh, knowing that once he left here he'd have to go back to his home in the scrap yard, where he'd have to fix that leaky roof again if he didn't want to spend the night soaked.

In the mean time, Ford was irritated with him - that much was clear. And maybe he had a right to be.

But for God's sake, he'd tried. He'd tried so hard, while looking over those old notes, calculations, and drawings that Ford had presented. He'd tried while Dipper prodded him with random questions. But it had all been for nothing, because he still couldn't do it. He couldn't seem to force the memories of the time he'd spent with Ford, working on the machine. He couldn't remember anything before that when they'd been in college together. And he sure as hell couldn't recall what had happened when he'd been sucked half-way through the portal - that memory had been one of the first to go when he'd first started wiping his mind. Right after he'd given up on the project.

Now, here they were, thirty years later, and Ford was returning the favor by starting to give up on him. Fiddleford couldn't find it in himself to blame him; he probably would have given up on himself too.

With a sigh, he rubbed his thumb along the side of his empty coffee mug and said, "I'm sorry."

Ford was silent for a long moment, before muttering an offhanded, "What for?"

"For...I don't know. Everything?"

Ford's response was to let out a huff of irritation and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Listen, Fiddleford," he said. "I get it, okay. I know you're trying. And I know that this was a bad idea - I mostly did it because Dipper said he really wanted to try and help you."

Fiddleford nodded at that. "He's a good kid. Means well."

"Yeah, I noticed. So we tried. And it didn't work. And now we're sitting here."

"And…?"

"And the point is, that it doesn't matter. It didn't work, and that's fine. You need time, and that's fine. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, getting up from the table, "I'm going to make myself another sandwich before the _warden_ comes and tells me I have to go back downstairs."

Fiddleford leaned back with a sigh, watching as Ford pulled sandwich materials out of the fridge. "Alright then."

"Yeah," Ford said as he started constructing his sandwich. "After all," he mumbled, "it's not like it's my problem."

Well. That one hurt.

"Yeah. Not your problem," Fiddleford agreed as he got up to put on his new suit jacket that he'd bought as part of his efforts to try and get his appearance together (or at least to look less like a hillbilly; which is why he'd shaved). "None of it was ever your problem; you made that pretty clear."

Ford paused in the middle of spreading mustard on his bread. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, without turning around.

"What the _Hell_ do you think?" Fiddleford spat.

Ford spun around, looking ready to fire insults at will - but stopped when the shack became filled with a strange noise. It sounded like-

It sounded like music.

 _COME ON BABY! LET'S DO THE TWIST!_

"What the Hell?" Ford asked, voicing Fiddleford's thoughts exactly.

 _COME ON BABY! LET'S DO THE TWIST!_

Curious, Fiddleford left Ford to his sandwich and went down the hall and into the living room. There, he saw perhaps the best thing he'd seen in a while: and old man, trying to teach two young kids how to do the twist.

 _TAKE ME BY MY LITTLE HAND, AND GO LIKE THIS!_

And they were terrible. Mabel was giving it a good try, twisting from foot to foot, but her arms were all over the place, while Dipper looked like he was trying to smash an unseen bug. Then there was Stan.

Stanley Pines was a man Fiddleford still didn't know or understand very well, but there were a few things he did know about him. He knew that Stanley was Ford's brother, and that he'd been running the Mystery Shack for the past thirty years in Ford's stead. He knew that Stanley adored his niece and nephew, even though he might not have been willing to admit it. And now, he knew that he was one hell of a dancer.

"Come on kids, you're gettin it," Stan encouraged the twins, as he twisted his legs in perfect time to the music. "Just relax and _twist_."

"This dance is so weird," Dipper said, frustrated that he couldn't seem to get in sync with the fast-paced rhythm.

"Oh, this one ain't so bad," Fiddleford said, stepping fully into the room. At the sight of him, Dipper stopped dancing and looked a bit guilty.

"Uh, hey McGucket," he greeted. "Um. About earlier-"

"This one came out when we were kids, you know," Fiddleford interrupted, for both his and Dipper's sake - the kid had no business feeling bad for trying to help, and he didn't really feel like dwelling on the past miserable hour or two.

"You got that right," Stan said from his end of the room. "I remember it used to be coming out of every radio up and down the boardwalk in Jersey. Could barely walk down the street without hearing it."

"I know what'ya mean," Fiddleford chuckled. "I heard it every time my Daddy would take me into town - and do you know something? He hated it!"

Stan let out a barking laugh. "Same here; my old man thought this music was gonna be the end of society as he knew it."

"And weren't they right?"

After a round of laughter, the song began to wind down, and Mabel said, "Mr. McGucket, you were dancing!"

"Huh?" He looked down and saw that, sure enough, he'd been doing the twist right along with them. The music from his youth had settled into his bones so well, he hadn't even noticed that he'd fallen back into the old rhythm.

"Not too shabby there, McGucket," Stan commented as the next song came on and the four of them started moving to the beat.

"Why, thank you," Fiddleford replied, offering a playful bow in return. "By the way, I'd prefer if y'all just called me Fiddleford."

" _Fiddleford?_ " Stan drawled. "You gotta be kidding me. Did your parents hate you or something?"

"Says the man whose name is nearly identical to his twin brother's."

"Point taken. However, there's no way I'm gonna spit out that entire mess of language every time I wanna say your name. So from now on, you're just plain old Fidds."

"Fine by me," said Fiddleford with a grin.

"Good," Stan smirked.

"Aw, look at you two," Mabel gushed. "Two old men making friends in what few remaining years they have!"

"Rude," Stan said and poked her in the ribs, which only made her giggle.

"Right," Dipper interjected, "so, uh, are we done with this whole dancing thing, or…?"

"Not by a long shot, kid," Stan announced as he went to switch out the records.

Fiddleford felt himself relaxing, and a smile came to his face. An evening of listening to old music with friends? No, that didn't sound bad at all. He looked at the crate sitting in the yellow chair and started flipping through the stack.

"You've got some good ones in here, Stan," he commented. "Oh, even some Bluegrass! Earl Scruggs, West Wind… Hey wait a second, these are mine!"

The realization flooded in as he said this, and knew it to be true. As he stared at the album covers, Fiddleford knew for a fact that he had bought these, listened to them repeatedly while working on his projects, and took them with him on the trip to Gravity Falls so that he could share them with his old college friend, Stanford Pines (not that Ford was ever a fan of Bluegrass, but that was besides the point).

"Wait, you remember them?" Dipper asked, sudden excitement in his voice.

"Yeah," Fiddleford replied, not catching the significance of the event. "I used to listen to them while I was working on the portal with Ford."

As if on cue, Ford chose that moment to come around the corner, headed for the vending machine and the hidden basement. "Don't worry," he grumbled at his brother, "I'm going downstairs, like we agreed."

"Wait, Stanford," Fiddleford called after him. "Hang on a minute; do you remember these?"

Ford glanced back and saw the records Fiddleford was holding. Recognition and surprise showed on his face. "Where'd you get those from?"

" _I_ found them lying around," replied Stan, crossing his arms. "So I added them to my own collection."

" _Your_ collection?" Ford scoffed. "That's probably pretty...hey wait, did you say you _found_ those?" Ford marched over to the crate and started looking through it himself. After a second or two he cried, "HA! Here it is!" He pulled the record out and turned to his brother. "Seriously? I knew you'd done some stuff, but stealing a man's Simon & Garfunkel album is pretty low."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, steal, that's the perfect word for all of this," he said, gesturing to the room at large."

"Whatever," Ford grunted before retreating to the basement (but not before snatching a Pink Floyd record as well). He left a rather awkward silence in his wake, and Fiddleford briefly wished he hadn't tried to make the connection with him. He looked back at the records, feeling a bit dejected.

"He seems kind of upset," Mabel said with concern for uncle. "Should one of us.."

"No," Stan answered before she could finish. "Ford's just a grouch who needs his alone time. So I say we give it to him. Sound good?" He offered Fiddleford a half-smile and a look that said, _That guy is impossible to deal with sometimes, but I care about him, so let's just move on and show these kids a good time._

"Works for me," Fiddleford agreed, returning the look with his own crooked grin, showing he understood perfectly. He may have lost most of his memory, but he could recall most of his early days of raising his son, Tate. And if there was anything parenting taught him, it was putting the kid first was always Number One.

Feeling a bit nostalgic, he turned back to the records and pulled one out, a little bit of mischief suddenly sparking. "Now if you'll do me a favor Stan," he said, holding up the record, "and put this one on."

Stan glanced at the cover and immediately said, "Nope! No way, we are not listening to that. I don't even know _why_ that's in there."

"Because they're a classic, perhaps?"

"About as classic as a dumpster!"

"Okay you two," Dipper interrupted, "all this vagueness means you now _have_ to play the record, so that Mabel and I can make a judgement call."

"Bring on the controversy!" Mabel cheered.

"Fair enough," Stan said as he grudgingly set up the record. "But mark my words, you're gonna regret this." There was a moment of silence before the music broke through:

 _Oh yeah, I'll tell you something_

 _I think you'll understand_

 _When I say that something_

 _I wanna hold your hand_

"Wait, is this the Beatles?" Dipper asked, eyes widening.

"You got that right," Stan spat. "It's not bad enough that we had all of these hippies running around back in the day, but then a bunch of English hippies had to show up."

"Hush your mouth," Fiddleford said in mock rage. "The British Invasion was one of the greatest things to happen to music!"

"Blasphemy!"

"Sorry Grunkle Stan," said Mabel as she began move side to side with the music, "but I'm with Mr. McGucket on this one. After all, The Beatles are what led to all of the cute boy bands we have nowadays!"

"What?" Stan cried. He shot an accusing glare at Fiddleford. "It wasn't bad enough you made me play it, but you had to turn my niece against me too?"

Fiddleford gave Stan a sly grin. "Oh, it wasn't me. And it's not just your niece."

"Huh?" Stan turned to see what he was talking about and, sure enough, there was Dipper, dancing along to the song and mindlessly singing the lyrics, word for word.

 _I wanna hold your hand_

 _I wanna hold your hand_

"Ugh," Stan groaned, as the twins started bouncing along to the tune. "This was never supposed to happen. To think that both family and music would be turned against me; this is a dark day for the Mystery Shack."

Fiddleford had a hard time stifling his laughter, and Stan caught him trying to cover his mouth to keep it in. At the sight of Stan glaring, he finally let go and laughed full on. And after a moment Stan was laughing with him. And Fiddleford couldn't remember the last time it felt so _good_ just to laugh with somebody over something ridiculous.

"Hey, Grunkle Stan," Mabel called, "if you have time to laugh, you have time to order pizza!"

"Wait, what?" Stan acted as if he'd never heard of such a word. "Pizza? Who said anything about pizza?"

"We're hungry!" Mabel shouted.

"Hungry!" Dipper chimed in.

"HUNGRY! HUNGRY! HUNGRY!"

"Okay, okay," the conman grumbled, heading for the kitchen. "Cool it, you sound you're trying to summon a pizza demon."

"Pizza demon?" Dipper questioned.

"Best. Demon. Ever." Mabel confirmed.

Fiddleford was in the middle of grinning at the exchange when Stan poked his head back into the room and said, "Hey, Fidds, would you mind _joining me_ in here?"

The inventor stared at the conman and drew a blank. _Join him?_ What was that supposed to mean? Why would Stan need to speak to him privately?

"Uh, sure?" he said, following Stan out of the room.

Once in the kitchen, Stan turned to Fiddleford and said, "Okay, first off, I'd like to know what it is that you want."

Huh? What did he _want_? Now that was a loaded question. He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to get his memories back, good and bad. He wanted to patch things up with Ford, and with his son. He wanted to quit having nightmares. He wanted to feel, for the first time in years, like he was safe.

"I…" he stammered, trying to figure out how best to answer Stan's question. "I suppose…"

"I mean, normally I'm a pepperoni kind of guy, but if you'd prefer veggie lover's or something, we could always find a way to make that work."

Oh. Pizza.

"Um, pepperoni sounds just fine to me," he recovered.

"Great," Stan grinned.

While Stan ordered the pizza, Fiddleford was wondering what had gotten into him to make him think that Stan Pines of all people would be asking him deep, meaningful questions. Sure, they seemed to be having a good time together, but…

"Alright," Stan said once he'd hung up the phone. "Now, that food's on the way, I can ask you something more important." The taller man turned and gave Fiddleford a piercing look before saying, "Are you okay?"

Was he…? Well he was on the verge of giving up on trying to understand what direction this conversation was going, that was for sure.

"What do you mean?" he asked in return, not wanting to jump the gun once more.

"I mean…" the conman glanced around, and rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of the right words. "I mean, well, we were having a good time in there until Ford showed up, and I'm used to him acting like a jerk lately, but you looked really hurt and I just kinda wanted to know if you were alright?"

Fiddleford blinked in confusion. "Why do you care?"

The question made the conman turn a little red and say, "No reason! I was just, ya know, concerned for my fellow man or whatever. I mean, if you're fine, that's great, but if you're not I thought maybe we could...talk...or something."

After taking a minute to let this awkward speech soak in, Fiddleford tried to fight back the smile that was threatening to take over his face. Instead a small laugh escaped, and he managed to say, "Well look at you."

"Huh?"

"You're just a big marshmallow, aren't you?"

Now that one made him _really_ turn red, and Fiddleford could do nothing but snicker at the sight of a man his age blushing like an embarrassed teenager.

"W-whatever," Stan stammered. "Just trying to be nice…"

"I know Stan," Fiddleford said in earnest, once he'd gotten done poking fun. "And I appreciate it. It's true: Ford and I don't seem to get along as well as I think we used to. There's a lot of years between us. I'm sure you can probably understand even better than I can."

"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I can."

"Nothing that we can really do for it at the moment, though, it seems," Fiddleford said as he looked out the window. The sky was really dark now, and the kitchen was quiet enough that he heard a slight rumble come from off in the distance.

After a moment, Stan broke the silence to ask, "So. What now?"

The inventor considered. "Well, I'd say that we should go back in there and see if we can't show those kids a good time."

The two shared a smile and Stand said, "Sounds like a plan to me."

…..

Rain pattered on the roof in a pleasant melody as thunder rolled across the land, sending a shudder through the walls of every building. It was a large but comfortable sort of storm, the kind that could put a body right to sleep. Dipper and Mabel had proven this point, falling to sleep almost immediately after Stan had sent them to bed. Now it was just him and Fiddleford, sitting on the floor of the living room, listening on of the last of the records.

They'd done it all - they'd listened to everything, from the early 50s to the 90s, from Rock n Roll to Bluegrass, from Elton John to Lynrd Skynrd, the four of them had listened to it. They'd eaten pizza, sipped Pitt cola, sang along, and danced in every possible combination of partners. The twins had teased a bit when the two old men had started to dance together, but shut up quickly when they saw just how well they complemented one another; Fiddleford's slight frame and still-nimble limbs went well with Stan's bulk and steady feet, and before long they were "cutting a rug" as it were.

"You're pretty good you know," Stan complimented as he sipped his soda. "The dancing I mean."

"Not bad yourself," replied Fiddleford. He was holding a record, staring at the cover wistfully. "You know," he joked lightly, "it's sort of funny."

"What's that?"

"Dipper and your brother spent all morning trying to get me to remember my past. And I've spent months on my own, trying to get things to come back. But after all that, one evening of listening to music and being with your family has brought back more than I ever could have hoped." He reached for a stack of records and held them up one by one. "The time I got my first car. A party I went to at college. My cousin's wedding. The day Tate lost his first tooth; and that's just the big ones. There's a bunch of other little details too." He smiled fondly at the vinyls in his hands. "I guess music just does that to people - brings back memories."

"And," Stan added, holding up his soda can, "brings people together."

The two shared a grin and hit their cans together for a toast before going bottoms up. Fiddleford finished first, and he was wiping his mouth, he commented, "You know Stan, I really have to thank you."

The conman choked on his soda just a bit. "Thank me?" he coughed. "Thank me for what?"

Fiddleford tilted his head as if it was obvious. "Well, for having me here. Letting me be with your family for a day. For...talking to me."

At this Stan looked away and gave a shrug. "It's nothing really. Anyone would do the same. I mean, you're a person after all."

"But that's just the thing Stan…"

The conman turned to see the inventor sitting up straight. After all the dancing, he'd gotten a bit warm and ended up hanging his coat and sweater vest on the rack next to Stan's fez and jacket, and was now sitting in his slacks, shirt, and socks, having removed his shoes. Stan had also taken his shoes off and put on his slippers, and (he thought self consciously) with his shirt untucked and his gray hair mussed, he probably looked a wreck.

That was why he couldn't help squirming just a bit as Fiddleford continued, "Stanley, before this summer, you were the only person in this entire town who treated me as if I was a person. Everyone else would laugh at me, and make fun, but never you. Everyone else acted as if I was less than human, less than an animal. But not you."

Stan shifted a little and looked at his hands, unable to hold the inventor's gaze. "A lot of people don't understand what real hardship is like. I do. I know what it's like, to be treated like you're dirt, and I could never do that to another person."

He could feel Fiddleford nodding next to him. "In a way it's nice to have someone that understands."

"Yeah. It is."

They sat in silence for a moment as the smooth blues music came to a stop, and they were left with nothing but the sounds of the storm, neither of them willing to break the comfortable silence.

After a minute or two, Fiddleford let out a breath and started to ease himself off the floor. "Well," he yawned, "I'd better head home."

"Huh?" Stan balked at the idea. "In this storm?" Stan hefted himself up and Fiddleford paused in putting on his shoes. "You can't go outside in this; it's too dark! You'd get washed away!"

"I've seen worse."

"Worse nothing - you'll stay here tonight."

"Huh?" the inventor looked genuinely surprised. "Oh, well, Stan I don't-"

Stan held up a hand to stop him. "No excuses. You can sleep in my room."

"What? _Your room?_ But Stan…"

"Save it, Fidds."

Fiddleford paused before swallowing his protests and managing, "Why th-thank you Stan. Honestly, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," the taller man insisted. "It's not a big deal. I'll sleep in here or on the couch or something."

This was met by a smile so warm, Stan felt himself start to turn red again.

"Uh, in the mean time," he said, stepping away and over to the gramophone, "we've still got one record left!" He picked it up. "Let's see who it is. Oh, look, it's Elvis! Can't believe we forgot about the King himself!"

"Stan?"

The conman paused in the middle of dropping the needle to look over his shoulder.

"Thank you."

They held each other's gaze, a soft, tired smile creasing Fiddleford's face, soon joined by a sheepish one from Stan.

"No problem Fidds," Stan murmured. "I've had a pretty damn good time getting to know you."

"Guess music really _does_ bring people together," replied Fiddleford.

The possible implications of those words caused Stan to widen his eyes and, without noticing, finally drop the needle onto the record.

 _Wise men say_

Oh no, Stan thought without moving his gaze. This song.

 _Only fools rush in_

"Um…" he looked down at his feet. "Did you want to maybe, uh, dance?"

 _But I can't help_

Stan saw two socked feet come to meet his slippers, and looked up as Fiddleford took his hands and led him to the center of the room.

 _Falling in love with you_

They drew each other close, and danced in slow circles, not meeting each other's eyes, not needing to.

 _Shall I stay?_

And they both had the strange feeling that right now, in this moment, something was happening.

 _Would it be a sin?_

That something was beginning.

 _If I can't help, falling in love with you?_

And if they happened to be dancing as a pair of twins, previously thought to be asleep, looked on, then they wouldn't have noticed.

Nor would they have cared.

 _Falling in love with you..._

(AN: The song's mentioned include Chubby Checker's _The Twist_ , The Beatles' _I Want to Hold Your Hand_ , and Elvis's _I Can't Help Falling in Love With You._ I own none of these; they all go to their respective artist/companies. Also, I don't own Gravity Falls (though that's probably obvious))


	2. An Outside Perspective

The sun rose in the sky, shedding light upon the pine covered hills and valleys, and turning dew drops into tiny beads of gold upon the grass. The rain from the night before had awoken the rich smell of green and earth, and the birds were chirping in their nests, perhaps celebrating that the storm had ended. It was a perfect morning really…

Unless you were Wendy Corduroy, who was currently walking down the path to the Mystery Shack.

"Okay Wendy," the red-head said aloud, trying to build herself up. "You can do this. Soos said that everything was fixed up. No more agents swarming around, no gravity anomalies, nothing. The only new thing is that it turns out Mr. Pines has a twin who trapped in a portal for the past thirty years. Nothing weird about that. Also, there's a chance that Stan's efforts to get him back may have set off a chain reaction that could lead to the apocalypse; but hey we've all been there before."

The teen slowed down and drew in deep breaths. This was okay. She would make it be okay. She had to, for the good of the group.

Because frankly, when push came to shove, she really cared about those guys. Dipper was a witty little genius that she could always talk smack with, Mabel was just about the cutest, most thoughtful kid ever, and Soos was that one guy that you could always count on to have your back. Heck, Wendy even had to admit that she liked Stan - the old man practically robbed people and got off scot free on a daily basis. How could you not respect that?

Yeah, she cared about them. And that was why no amount of stress was going to keep her from going back to work.

"Listen up Wendy," she ordered herself, "you are going to go in there and man the _crap_ out of that register! You're gonna talk to Soos and the kids like everything's normal. You're gonna maybe meet this _Author_ guy. And you will _not let any of it stress you out_. Remember, stress is for losers. Are you a loser? NO! Are you gonna do this? YES!"

And with that she found herself breaking from her usual steady stroll into brisk jog, her lunch box clanking up and down as she went. After a moment or two, she rounded the bend to find that, sure enough, the Shack was intact. She picked up the past and bounded down the driveway and up the steps, flung the door open, and landed with a thud onto the floor of the Gift Shop.

"Hey guys!" she called, panting slightly. "I'm here!"

The shop was devoid of people, and for a brief moment Wendy stood in silence, her eyes trained on the swinging wooden door that led to the living room. Then, without ceremony, a blur of color, yarn, and brown hair burst the door and made a beeline straight for the teenager.

"WENDY'S BACK!" Mabel cheered as she reached her. She jumped and wrapped a hug around the (much) taller girl's legs, while jumping up and down in excitement. "I missed you so much the past two weeks! You won't believe everything that's happened! First the FBI showed up and Grunkle Stan got arrested, then they tried to take me and Dipper away, but we escaped thanks to your dad's love of Sev'ral Timez, and then - !"

"Whoa, whoa," Wendy laughed as she bent down to Mabel's height. "Slow down there, kid. First off: come here and give me a real hug."

Mabel happily complied, squeezing her friend tight. Wendy felt herself relaxing; if Mabel could still be her usual bouncy self after all of this craziness, then they were sure to get through okay. A moment later they were joined by Dipper and Soos, who gave equally excited greetings.

"Okay," Mabel said after they'd all calmed down a bit, "so here's what happened. We-"

"No worries, Mabel," Wendy interrupted. "Soos actually told me everything already."

"Wait," Dipper asked, "even the part about the Author?"

"Yes, even that," Wendy said with an exasperated eye roll.

Soos gave a sheepish chuckle and said, "Sorry about that, dude. Wish I hadn't been so excited when I first told you. Otherwise I wouldn't have called at 3 am. Or have had to retell the story twice."

"Yeah. I wish that too. But anyway," Wendy went on, brushing it off, "now that I'm all caught up on the wacky part of things, what's been going on otherwise? You guys adjusting to things pretty well?"

"Yes!" The twins said in unison. Wendy smiled and leaned against the counter, preparing herself for what was sure to be a barrage of glee.

"Grunkle Ford is so great!" Mabel announced.

"Yeah!" Dipper agreed. "He's awesome! He's totally into the same stuff I am like RPGs and puzzles. The other night we talked about Star Trek for like an hour! "

" _And_ he likes sweaters!" Mabel pulled out a ball of blue yarn and added, "I'm making him a ' _Welcome to the Family'_ sweater to celebrate! I'm gonna do it right after I finish the sweater vest I'm making for Mr. McGucket!"

"Oh hey," Soos broke in, "speaking of which, weren't you dudes telling me something about McGucket before Wendy showed up?"

Mabel and Dipper paused in their excitement and went wide-eyed, making faces of joy and apprehension respectively.

"OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH!" Mabel squealed, jumping up and down. "I nearly forgot!"

"Forgot what?" Wendy asked.

"Okay, so yesterday," Dipper began explaining, "I brought McGucket over so that Grunkle Ford and I could try to help him regain his memories. I thought maybe Ford would be able to help him, but it...didn't go so well… Anyway, so after that, Stan decided to lighten the mood by letting us listen to some of his records. McGucket came to join us, and long story short he spent the rest of the evening with us."

"Sounds like a party," Wendy approved.

"But that's not even the best part!" Mabel broke in. "Later, Dipper and I went downstairs after we were supposed to go to sleep, and we found them _dancing_!"

"Who's them?" asked Soos, suddenly confused.

"Stan and McGucket," Dipper explained.

"Wait, Stan and McGucket?"

"Yes."

"McGucket and Stan?"

"Yep."

"Stan and McGucket were dancing?"

"Not just dancing," sang Mabel. "They were _slow_ dancing!"

It was Wendy's turn to be confused. "Whoa, hold up. You guys are saying that Stan was up late last night, slow dancing with Old Man McGucket? And this wasn't some sort of Mabel Juice induced hallucination?"

"Nope, as weird as it is, it definitely happened," Dipper confirmed.

"It was the cutest thing I think I've ever seen," Mabel gushed.

"Stan and McGucket," Wendy said slowly, trying to let it sink in. It was a weird image, to be sure. Weird, but…

"Y'know, if you think about it, it almost makes sense," Soos said, voicing Wendy's thoughts.

"I know, right?" said Mabel. "Dipper doesn't seem to agree, though."

"I'm just not sure if it would actually work," Dipper explained in a reasonable tone of voice. "I mean, first of all, McGucket's still working to get back on his feet after all of the terrible things he's been through, while Stan's a wanted criminal throughout most of the US."

"Sorry Dipper, but I can't hear you over the sound of _LOVE!_ " Mabel threw her arms in the air for emphasis.

"Stan in love? Now there's an image," Wendy snickered.

Just then the wooden door swung open again, and out stepped the man of the hour.

"Morning everybody," Stan grunted as he rubbed leftover sleep out of his eyes. "Hope you're all ready for another wonderful day of scamming suckers." When there was no reply, Stan took a second to focus on the group of four, who were all staring at him with blank expressions. "What, is there something on my face?"

"Huh?" Soos woke up from their collective trance just then and started babbling, "Oh no Mr. Pines, nope, nothing on your face. Nothing unusual at all. Not that anything unusual _would_ happen around here, that is. Nope, everything's normal. How are you this morning?"

Stan blinked. "Soos, have you been in the Mabel Juice again?"

"Speaking of juice," Mabel broke in, "Dipper and I forgot to eat breakfast! We need to go fix that!"

"She's right," Dipper agreed nervously as Mabel started pulling him through the door. "It's the most important meal of the day after all!"

With that the two escaped, most likely to both avoid work and continue talking about their uncle's prospective love life. Stan shrugged and turned back to his employees. "Alright knuckleheads," he announced. "Because this is our second reopening this summer, I've got a feeling that business might be slow today. Nevertheless, we're gonna run things like we usually do: Soos, I need you to go straighten the last of those shingles on the roof. Wendy, you're on counter duty. Capisce?"

"Capisce," the pair resounded, both giving Stan a salute. For once Wendy actually didn't half-ass it. Stan seemed to notice and gave her a wry grin.

"Nice to have you back, Lumberjill," he commented as Soos rushed off to fix the roof. "Enjoy your time off?"

Wendy folded her arms and smirked. "Well, you should know by now that any time I spend away from you is enjoyable, Mr. Pines."

Stan gave a barking laugh and Wendy smiled as she went to take her place behind the counter. It was good to be back.

"Oh, Stanley…"

Wendy looked up and saw the last person she expected to come out of the living room: Fiddleford McGucket himself, holding a steaming mug of coffee. This by itself was surprising enough, but adding to it was Stan's reaction. The old man startled at the sound, before almost instantly switching to a bright smile.

"Hey there, Fidds," Stan greeted. "Sleep good?"

"Better than I've slept in years," McGucket replied happily. "That bed of yours is a lot softer than the old cot I have at the scrap yard."

 _Wait...bed?_ Wendy tried to not to show any reaction, but... _bed?_ McGucket slept in Stan's _bed_?

"Well, hey," Stan said, drawing Wendy out of her myriad of silent questions. "I'm just glad I could, y'know, accomodate. Uh, that's the word, isn't it?"

"Yep!" Fiddleford replied brightly. "That's it."

Stan forced a chuckle to hide his embarrassment. "I, uh, don't always use words like that, so…"

"Oh, I know what you mean," Fiddleford said, shaking his head. "The other day I couldn't think of a word, and it was driving me insane. I thought for a second that maybe it was another thing I'd lost, but then I realized I'd just gone brain-dead for a second."

"So what was the word?"

"You'll laugh."

"Aw, come on, try me."

"Okay… It was pulchritude."

Stan bit his lip, desperately trying not to laugh, but a tiny snicker escaped. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out, "it's just, I can't blame you for forgetting that. I mean, what does a word like that even mean?"

"Well, actually, it means beauty," Fiddleford said, still wearing a friendly smile.

Wendy wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it, but just then, before her eyes, Stan Pines blushed. "Oh, uh, I see… Nice word. Kinda thought it was gonna be something gross, but, wow."

"Yeah…" McGucket trailed off and looked down at his hands. "Oh! I just realized, I've forgotten something else: this is for you." He offered Stan the mug full of coffee. "I was in the kitchen and the twins came in and told me you were looking tired. So I thought I'd bring you a cup."

After giving Dipper and Mabel a mental high five, Wendy decided there was no way she could be imagining the sight of Stan awkwardly thanking Fiddleford for the coffee while deliberately avoiding eye contact. Nor the way Fiddleford just couldn't stop smiling at the sight. Or the close proximity the two were maintaining.

 _Geez_ , she thought. _Could you guys be any more obvious?_ At this rate she could've figured it out without the twins telling her anything.

"So where are you headed today," Stan asked, noting that Fiddleford was already dressed to leave.

"Oh, well… I was actually planning on heading over to the lake to see Tate. He and I have a lot to talk about, and I think I'm finally ready to do it."

"Stan raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Dang. Well, good luck. I hope it goes well for you."

"So do I," McGucket replied, looking off into the distance with a face filled with apprehension. Stan put a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention to the conman's look of reassurance.

"Hey, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Fiddleford grinned and gave Stan a good-natured rib before thanking him once more for letting him stay the night. Wendy watched as Stan led McGucket to the door.

"Hey, and don't be a stranger!" Stan called as McGucket made his way down the steps. "It's nice having another old guy around to talk to, y'know?"

"Sure do! See you later!" And with that, he headed off down the path, bound for Lake Gravity Falls.

"Bye!" Stan called after him, waiting until the inventor was completely out of sight before shutting the door. He turned around to find Wendy staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied, a sly, almost accusing grin slipping onto her face. "Nothing at all."

"Hey, if you're trying to imply something…"

"What?" Wendy widened her eyes innocently. "Me? Imply something? Never." She gave a flippant wave of the hand before pulling out a magazine and propping her feet on the counter.

"Good!" Stan spat. "Because, for the record, there's nothing going on! Me and Fidds just happen to get along well."

"Uh-huh," Wendy replied without looking up.

"We enjoy some of the same things, and he's easy to talk to."

"Mmhm."

"And there's the fact that we've both had it pretty rough for most of our lives. We understand each other. We respect each other. Not to mention that he's really smart and easy-going…"

"I see."

"B-but that's it, okay? Just because all of that is true doesn't mean there's any funny business going on!"

"Huh?" Wendy looked up again. With a straight face she replied, "Oh, no, I totally get what you're saying Mr. Pines. I mean, just because you guys like each other doesn't mean that you _like_ each other, right?"

"Right!" Stan crossed his arms and gave a smug grin, proud of himself for explaining things away.

"Just two old dudes being pals."

"Exactly!"

"Yep. Probably a good idea, too, considering he's way out of your league."

"Yeah, he's- wait, what?"

Stan's gaze darted back to Wendy who peeked over the magazine to give him a cheesy grin. Stan stuttered for a moment, before finally letting his shoulders sag in defeat.

"Okay," he sighed. "Okay, you got me. And now that you've got me, d'you think you could help me?"

Wendy paused in her satisfaction at winning long enough to raise an eyebrow. "Wait, what? Help you? What do you need help with?"

"Wendy, I'm gonna be honest here: I have no idea what to do. It's been ages since I liked someone, _really_ liked them. The last time I went out with someone, it didn't go so well. And…"

"And?" Wendy prompted, still trying to understand what Stan's problem was.

"And...I've never really felt this way for...for a guy."

Wendy's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah," Stan said, looking embarrassed and almost ashamed. "I mean, when I was growing up you didn't _do_ things like that, y'know? I mean, there were people who did of course, but we weren't supposed to talk about it."

"I'm guessing your family wasn't any different?" Wendy set her magazine to the side as she spoke, and took her feet off the counter. For once, Stan was actually opening up, and she felt she owed him her full attention.

Stan gave a bitter laugh in reply to her question. "Are you kidding? You should've seen my old man's reaction when I wore a pink tux to prom."

"Yeesh."

"You said it, sister." Stan looked at his feet and sighed. "I mean, I guess I could talk to him, but what would people think? What would they say? Not to mention that I don't think Ford would take it too well."

The old con man leaned heavily against the counter, fingering the sealed jar of eyeballs. "I mean, would it even be worth it?"

 _Okay,_ Wendy thought. _That's it._

The red-head slammed her boots onto the floor and leapt up from her chair. Before Stan could process what was going on, she was leaning over the counter and staring him down.

"Seriously?" she barked. "That's what you're thinking about? That it might be too hard? That other people might not approve? _Are you kidding me?_ " She reached up and smacked the fez off of Stan's head, eliciting a grunt of surprise.

"What- Y-you wouldn't understand," Stan accused, as he fumbled to catch the fez.

"Okay, you're right." Wendy put her hands up in concession. "I've never dated a girl before. But I can guarantee that if I did, I would have to put up with a lot of crap not just from strangers, but also from my brothers. And yeah, that would be pretty awful. But if I really cared about her, that stuff wouldn't matter. You know what would matter? Her! And the way I felt about her!"

"Wendy…"

"Look Stan: it's the 21st century, gay marriage is legal, and Roy Cohn is dead. No, things are not perfect, but things are changing and getting better every day."

"Okay!" Stan practically shouted. "Okay, I get it, gay pride and all that crap. Wendy, that's only part of my problem. The other part is that...well I'm not sure if Fidds could ever return the feeling."

"First of all, you're wrong. Second, that's not the point!" Wendy poked Stan square in the chest to get his full attention. "The point is that if you really like someone, you can't just sit there and whine - you have to _do_ something about it!"

"But he's a genius!"

"And?" Wendy was on the verge of slapping _herself_ if Stan continued to be this dense. "Stan, you're one of the craftiest people I know. You're stubborn as hell and you always find a way to come out on top. Not to mention that any blind person could see that you're a great uncle to the twins. Not to mention a decent father figure to Soos. And for the record, I know for a fact that you knew that if I didn't get a job this summer, my dad was going to send me to my cousin's logging camp. You knew, and you hired me because of it."

Stan looked away, unwilling to admit that he was that much of a softy.

"Furthermore," Wendy continued, getting more adamant the longer she spoke, "Fiddleford McGucket may be a genius, but he's also a tired old guy with a lot of love to give. And I don't see any reason why that love shouldn't go to you."

"Gee, Wendy," Stan chuckled. "The way you talk I'd almost think that you like this old boss of yours."

"Of _course_ I do," Wendy said, rolling her eyes. "You're cool, in your weird old man way. Now listen."

She grabbed Stan by the lapels of his jacket and looked him straight in the eye. "Stan Pines, you are a gross, money-loving weirdo. You are also a giant marshmallow with a hard shell and gray hair. Now, I want you to quit this self-pity schtick, wipe that nervous look off your face, and go ask that McGucket to have dinner with you!"

Stan stared at her in pure shock. After a moment he said, "Y-you're right…"

Wendy let go of him and Stan took a step back, putting a hand on his forehead. "You're right! Wendy, you're right!"

"That's what I've been saying."

"I can't just stand here," Stan announced, stomping a foot on the ground. "Not when someone who I actually have a chance at being happy with is out having to walk all the way to the lake! You know I'm gonna do, Wendy?"

"What are you gonna do, Stan?"

"I'm gonna go give that beautiful hillbilly bastard a ride to see his son! And then I'm gonna pick him up and treat him to a night on the town, because damn it, he deserves it! And I'm _not_ gonna doubt myself!"

"So what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing!"

"Then do it!"

"I will!"

"GO!"

"AAAH!"

"AAAAAHH!"

And with a mighty battle cry, Stan hurtled out the door, leaped into the Stanley mobile, and sped off down the road. Wendy stood on the porch and leaned against the door jamb, watching as the dust cloud faded. Her normal casual smirk returned to her face and she felt satisfied - all of that pent up energy had finally done some good.

"Grunkle Stan?" Wendy turned her head to see Mabel come through the door, followed closely by her brother. "Oh, hey Wendy," she greeted the teen. "Have you seen Grunkle Stan?"

"Mabel thinks she came up with the _perfect_ idea to get Stan and McGucket together," Dipper said, his skepticism obvious. "So do you know where he is?"

"Actually, he said he had to run an errand and that we should close the Shack for the day."

Wendy grinned at the sight of the twins' jaws dropping. She was almost immediately assaulted with questions as to what was going on, and how it was possible that Stan would do such an unbelievable thing. Soos joined them a moment later, wondering if perhaps Stan had been replaced by an alien. Through it all, Wendy just smiled at all of them and looked back down the road.

Yeah. When push came to shove, she really loved these guys. And she wouldn't mind a bit if another member was added to this kooky little family.


	3. Alternate Universe (Highschool AU)

**(Trigger Warning for anyone who's suffered from parental abuse/abuse due to homophobia.)**

Fiddleford let out a slow breath, sending a small cloud of condensation into the cold night air. With a shiver, he tightened his scarf and picked up the pace as he made his way down the block. He'd only been to the neighborhood a few times, and he silently prayed that he wouldn't get lost. That was the last thing he needed, especially on a night like this.

He gave another involuntary shiver and hugged his arms. Why had he agreed to this? Probably because his mother had raised him to be polite. Or perhaps because he didn't like confrontation. But as he was coming up with these excuses, he had to silently admit that he knew exactly why he'd agreed to it.

It was because Stanley Pines had pleaded with him, and between that over-eager grin and the mischievous glint in those big brown eyes, Fiddleford had found himself unable to argue.

The teen let out a sigh as he walked under a dim street lamp. "Well," he said out loud, "think of it this way Fiddleford. At least if you do happen to get lost and die of hypothermia, you'll die knowing that you were just trying to make your b-boyfriend happy." As he rounded the corner he could've kicked himself for the way he felt his face heat up at that word: "boyfriend." God, it made him feel like a silly elementary-schooler.

But that's what they were, weren't they? Boyfriends. They went on dates, talked about deeply personal things, cuddled… The fact that absolutely no one knew about it besides themselves and Stan's twin brother was just an arbitrary detail. So, when Stanley had first suggested that he come visit him at the pawn shop while the rest of the family was at an award ceremony for Stanford, Fiddleford just couldn't help but say yes.

The idea of spending an evening alone with his boyfriend was both exciting and nerve-wracking - they'd spent time alone before, of course, but that was usually at secluded spots on the beach or just outside of town, and things never went very far. Not that either of them minded; just being together was enough.

Just then he smelled it: a mixture of waffles, deli meat, and lead paint. Fiddleford looked up to see exactly what he'd been looking for: Pines Pawns, a dinky little shop wedged between the Hot Belgian Waffles Cafe and the Knuckles Sandwiches deli. The neon 'Phone Psychic' sign in the upstairs window was lit, as always, with a faint yellow from the living room lamps shining through the curtains. Fiddleford had been here a few times, to do homework with Ford or to meet up with the twins before a movie, and every time Mr. Pines had sat in his chair in the corner, staring Fiddleford down from behind his shades. But this time, he wouldn't be there. This time it was just Stanley waiting for him - and as a result, the house had never looked more inviting.

Fiddleford went and knocked on the door to the pawn shop. After a pause, he heard the racket of someone clambering down the stairs, and a moment later the door burst open to reveal Stanley wearing a bow tie and huge grin.

"Well, if it isn't the lucky man of the evening?" Stan leaned against the doorframe and threw a sly grin Fiddleford's way. "Miss me?"

"Stan, I saw you at school five hours ago."

"Come on, Fidds, I'm trying to be romantic over here!"

"Well, could you please do it inside? It's freezing!"

At this, Stan looked guilty. "Oh, sorry," he apologized, clearing the way for Fiddleford to come inside. Once he stepped into the shop, Stan shut the door behind them and the two boys stood in the dark, the shorter one shivering.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come pick you up," Stan continued, guilt evident in his voice. "I had to let Ford borrow the Stanley Mobile so that he could get to the school early."

"No, that's fine," Fiddleford said as he shrugged out of his coat and started to wipe the fog from his coke-bottle glasses. "The walk probably did me good anyways; I've spent so much time at my desk studying up for exams that I just about forgot how to stand up straight."

"Pfft," Stan scoffed. "Nerd! Spending all your time studying."

"Moron!" Fiddleford shot back. "Never studying at all."

The two glared at each other for a minute before breaking into grins. Stan pulled his boyfriend into a hug and murmured, "Glad you could come, Fidds."

"Same here," Fiddleford sighed, snuggling into Stan's embrace. There was something about those big meaty arms and that pudgy stomach that always made Fiddleford feel right at home, and this time was no exception.

"Damn!" Stan exclaimed. "You really are cold! Come on," he said as he ushered Fiddleford towards the stairs. "We need to get you close to a heater. And besides: I've got a surprise for you."

"What sorta surprise?" Fiddleford asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

"You just wait and see," Stan replied, his sly grin returning as he pulled his boyfriend in closer. Fiddleford returned the look full on, his apprehension fading by the minute.

….

"In conclusion, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone for coming here tonight, and for your continued support!" Stanford finished his speech off with his best 'Winner's Smile,' earning him several jeers from the audience. Of course, being a New Jersey native himself, he took this as a severe form of flattery. Once he was off stage he wiped his brow - speaking in public had never been his strong suit, and it was a miracle that he hadn't thrown up half-way through.

Back onstage, the awards ceremony continued with his fellow winners receiving their various ribbons and medals. Ford relaxed and felt himself grinning - this night was going great! He was going to be given the top Science award for the second year in a row, he'd aced his opening ceremony speech, and Daisy Thompson had actually said , "Hello" to him without a trace of disgust! Not to mention that his parents had actually come to see him accept his award and had promised to take him out to eat afterwards. And with them here, Stan and Fiddleford would have a chance to hang out for a while without risk of anyone barging in.

Ford shook his head at the thought of his brother and his best friend. _Knuckleheads_ , he thought, fondly. Ever since last year's Homecoming, the two had been easily one of the sappiest couples Ford had ever witnessed. Honestly, it was a wonder no one else had figured out they were into each other. But that was for the best - who knew what would happen if someone outside their little trio found out the truth? He nearly shuddered at the thought. No, it was better this way. They could keep it a secret until Ford and Fiddleford finally got accepted into that college on the West coast and took Stan with them. Then they'd all have the opportunity to be themselves: an awkward freak, a hillbilly hippie, and a moron-in-love. Ford grinned to himself, unable to imagine a better future.

At the time he was completely unaware that out in the audience, his parents were in the middle of a heated disagreement.

"I thought I told you to grab my wallet," Mr. Pines growled.

"You didn't tell me nothin'!" snapped Mrs. Pines, never one to take guff from her husband.

"Well now there's no way we can go out to eat."

Mrs. Pines wagged a finger at her husband, a fierce frown creasing her face. "Oh, no you don't, Mister! We promised our little Stanford that we were going to take him out to eat it, and by God we're going to do it!"

"And how do you expect me to pay for dinner without my wallet, Ms. Psychic?"

"Why don't you go use the payphone to call Stanley and ask him to bring it up here? That boxing match he wanted to watch shouldn't be starting for another few minutes."

"No dice; Ford had to borrow his car."

"Well then, you'd better hurry home and get the damn wallet yourself!"

Mr. Pines stood up, grumbling as he made his way down the row, hopping over people's feet. Once he made it to the aisle, he pulled out his keys and went to the back door, headed for his car. And home.

…...

"Ta-da!" Stanley cried, and Fiddleford heard the rustling of a sheet. "Okay, you can open 'em now!"

Fiddleford obeyed, opening his eyes to a rather interesting sight: two plates full of canned spaghetti, a glass full of breadsticks, a lit candle, and couple of sad-looking roses.

"S-sorry it's kinda lousy," Stan grimaced. "It had to do it all kinda last minute. And I hope it's okay that I used paper plates; I was trying to make it easy to clean up, y'know?"

"Stanley," Fiddleford said in a tone serious enough to earn his boyfriend's full attention. "I will have you know that this is perhaps the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"I know, I'm sorr- Wait, you're serious?"

"Of course!" Fiddleford gestured at the table. "Anyone could see that you put a lot of effort into it! Not to mention that you know I love canned spaghetti."

"The cheap stuff _is_ always better," Stan agreed.

Fiddleford reached and pulled out the chair next to Stan. "As thanks for this extravagant meal," he announced dramatically, "may I offer to seat you, my kind sir?"

"Why yes," Stan replied, giving an equally dramatic bow. "Yes, you may."

Snickering, the two sat down and began eating. They both slurped their spaghetti, eliciting noises of approval.

"Not bad, Stan!" said, Fiddleford between bites.

"If y'think this is good, just wait until dessert!" Stan reached under the table and pulled out a pink bakery box. "Bet you'll never guess what I talked old Marco down at the bake shop into making."

Fiddleford's brow creased in thought, before his entire face became an expression of pure disbelief. "No."

"Yes."

"There's no way!"

"Oh, yes there is!"

The teen ripped open the bakery box to find the most glorious sight he'd witnessed since he moved to New Jersey. "Homemade pecan pie…" he murmured, his voice quavering.

"You talk about it often enough that I decided I had to go get you one! 'Course Marco'd never made one before, but once I brought him a recipe that I found at the library, he did it, and even gave me a discount!"

"Oh, Stanley," Fiddleford squeaked, trying to hold back tears. "This is just amazing!"

"Aw, it's not that big a deal," Stan replied, though he was unable to hide his flush of pleasure.

Fiddleford wiped a tear away as he set the box to the side. He couldn't keep himself from smiling as he said, "Y'know Stanley, I have to tell you - when we first moved here to Jersey, I thought my life was over. You have no idea how much I missed my cousins and everyone else back home."

Stan nodded and took his boyfriend's hand. "It was rough, wasn't it."

"Very. But then, one day, I was walking around in the cafeteria and I heard someone yelling at me to "Come sit my ass down, unless I thought I was too good for them."

The jock chuckled at the memory. It'd been one of his finer moments. After a week of seeing the new hippie kid sitting by himself, he and Ford had conversed and agreed that they might as well try to make friends with the guy. And damn, if it hadn't paid off!

"I really owe you guys a lot," Fiddleford murmured, squeezing Stan's hand.

"Hey, don't think about it like that," Stan reassured him. "You know we love having you around. God knows we were probably on the verge of getting sick of each other."

"As if that could ever happen," the shorter boy said, laughing at the idea.

After a moment of smiling at one another, Stan broke the silence to say, "I love you, Fidds."

Fiddleford turned red and looked away, though he couldn't hide his pleased grin. "Stan…"

"I mean it," he continued, now holding both of his boyfriend's hands. "You're always there to help out, you're considerate, you don't mind that my family's a little...unconventional."

"Well, it's not like I have room to talk."

Stan grinned before saying, "I know people always say that kids our age are too young for this stuff, but I mean it: I love you, Nerd."

Fiddleford met his gaze once more and looked him up and down. Stan was a sweaty, chubby jock who was just getting over his acne problems. And he was a short, noodle boy with uncontrollable hair. And here they were, holding hands across the table like two lovers in some romance flick. It was perfect, honestly.

"I love you too, Moron," he whispered.

He leaned over to peck Stan on the lips, and soon the two were holding each other across the small table, their spaghetti forgotten, completely lost in their own world. So lost that they didn't hear the slam of a car door just out front.

…

"Stanford!" The young science lover looked around to find the source of the voice. Finally he spotted his mother calling to him from the edge of the crowd, her well manicured hands waving him over. He jostled his way around the people, his new medal knocking against his chest. After a moment he finally reached her.

"There you are, Stanford! Oh, I am just so proud of you, Baby," Mrs. Pines gushed, reaching up to kiss her son on the cheek.

Stanford blushed and pulled away. "Mom, not in front of everybody."

"Oh, you calm down. A lot of these kids would be grateful to have a Mama who loved them as much as I love my boys."

"Okay, Mom," Stanford laughed, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "I get it. So where's Dad? We're still going to the restaurant, right?"

"Of course," she replied with a nod. "You're father just had to run home and get his wallet; in the mean time you and I can go ahead and drive down there."

"Alright, sounds-

Ford stopped in the middle of the parking lot when his mother's statement finally sunk in. "W-wait, did you say Dad went home?"

"Yeah, that's what I said." Mrs. Pines narrowed her eyes in confusion at the look on her son's face. "Stanford, sweetie, are you alright? Y'look like you've seen a ghost."

"Mom," Ford said slowly. "We have to go home, right now."

"What? But what about-?"

"Now, Mom!" Ford shouted as he began racing for the Stanley Mobile, his mother in tow. Every part of his brain was screaming in fear, and he almost hit someone as he raced out of the parking lot.

"Stanford!" Mrs. Pines yelled as the other driver flipped them off. "What in the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'll explain later," he replied, utterly distracted. "Just trust me when I say that if we don't get home fast, something really bad might happen!"

At the look of fright in her son's eyes, Mrs. Pines clenched her jaw and sat back in her seat, suddenly wishing that she really was a psychic.

…..

It all happened so fast. One moment they were kissing over the table, and the next they were standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Fiddleford ran his hands through Stan's slicked hair, while the larger boy had one arm wrapped around him while the other hand cupped his cheek, and damn if it had never been this good.

Then the door slammed open.

The two froze, unable to move or break apart in time before the heavy footsteps reached the kitchen. Then they both turned to greet the sound of keys clattering against the linoleum floor.

There he stood, Mr. Filbrick Pines, the cinder block himself. His face was emotionless as he took in the sight of his teenage son embracing his classmate. His gaze travelled slowly from them, to the table with the roses and dinner-for-two, to the bakery box on the counter, before going back to rest on the boys.

"H-hey, there Pops," Stanley, stuttered, loosening his grip on Fiddleford and turning to his father. "Y-you're home p-pretty early, aren't ya? Forget your wallet?"

Rather than reply, Filbrick stepped around the table and farther into the kitchen, stopping just a foot away from his son. Then he spoke.

"What the hell?"

"I-I can explain this Pops! You see-

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Stanley? Is this why you've been sneaking around for months?"

"Y-you mean that-?"

"That I knew? Of course I knew! What kind of an idiot do you think I am? I knew you were sneaking around, and I let it go because I thought you were just being a normal teenager - or at least like your usual dumb self. But I never thought that you'd gone completely off the rails." Filbrick turned his gaze to Fiddleford. "Or that you'd started running around with this little _faggot_."

Fiddleford winced and didn't try to fight when Stan gently pushed him back and stood in between him and Filbrick. Though the man's face still remained relatively blank, Fiddleford could practically _feel_ the rage rolling off of him.

"Listen Dad," Stan said slowly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. "I know that to you this looks bad, but-"

"But what?" Filbrick demanded, his voice raising in timbre faster than seemed possible. "But it's not a big deal? It doesn't matter at all that some little hippie turned my son into the _fucking queen of the fairies?"_

"Dad!"

"YOU LISTEN TO ME YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!" Filbrick roared and grabbed Stan by the collar, lifting him off the floor with ease. "IF YOU THINK FOR ONE SECOND THAT I'M GONNA LET THIS FRUITY SHIT HAPPEN UNDER MY ROOF, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER _FUCKING_ THING COMING!" With that he let go of Stan's collar, hauled off, and punched him in the dead center of his face, a sickening crunch sounding through the kitchen.

"Stanley!" Fiddleford cried.

Stanley went reeling backwards and hit the floor. Without thinking, Fiddleford went to him, crouching over his boyfriend, who's blood was now staining his white T-shirt. "Stanley, are you alright?" he asked, close to tears. Before Stan could reply, a shadow loomed over them and Fiddleford looked up into the now un-shaded eyes of Filbrick Pines, who growled, "I think you've done enough."

Before he could react, Filbrick had grabbed him and had him dangling above the floor. Fiddleford trembled as he stared into the steeled, merciless eyes of Stan's father. In a voice that verged on demonic, he said, "Shoulda stayed in the South, twink."

Then he felt himself practically flying through the air. The last thing he saw was Stanley getting to his feet and rushing Filbrick, knocking the pecan pie to the floor.

Then it went dark.

…..

Stanford brought the Stanley Mobile to a squealing halt in front of the pawn shop and practically ripped the door open. From outside he could see shadows moving on the other side of the upstairs curtain, and the sound of yelling could be heard.

"Stanford, is that your father?" Mrs. Pines asked, fear and confusion coming over her face.

"It's him and Stan!" Ford shouted back as forced the door to the shop open and flew inside. He ran through the aisles, shot up the stairs, and burst through the door to their home. What he found nearly made him faint.

Fiddleford was lying on the floor in the kitchen, a small pool of blood forming around the spot where his head had slammed into the cabinets. And in the living room, his father and his brother were in furious tussle, with blood already running down Stanley's face and soaking into his shirt.

"Stop!" he shouted, lunging for the two of them. He grabbed his father's arm and tried to pull him away from his brother, but Filbrick's only response was to shove him off, sending Ford toppling backwards and over the back of the couch.

"PANSY!" Filbrick roared, grabbing Stan by the neck. "FUCKING FAGGOT!"

Stan struggled in his father's grip, unable to breathe, unable to think. Then he remembered the one good thing his old man had ever made him learn.

"LEFT HOOK!"

The punch caused Filbrick to stumble back, though it left Stan with bloody knuckles - his old man really was a cinder block.

Now that he was off of him, Stan backed up and stared at his father. Filbrick was standing stiff as a board, eyes drilling into him. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford get up from where he'd landed behind the couch and pause, unsure of what to do. For a long moment they were all frozen.

"To think," Filbrick muttered darkly, "that I raised you. Fed you, clothed you, kept you under my roof. Called you my son. And then you pull this shit…"

Something woke up in Stan, and he glared straight back at Filbrick and spat, "Better than ending up like you."

That did it. Almost at once, Filbrick had grabbed again, ready to give him a real beating. Ford was shouting at the top of his lungs, begging their father to stop, and all Stan could think about was Fidds's limp body laying on the floor of the kitchen losing blood by the second. As his father pulled his fist back, Stan said a silent prayer, begging that his Fidds at least be spared in all of this.

And then, salvation came.

" _FILBRICK!"_

Everyone froze and turned to see GG Pines standing in the doorway, face twisted in rage. In a shaking voice she asked, "Filly, what the hell do you think you're doing to my baby?"

"Your _baby?_ " Filbrick sneered. "This _baby_ of yours just so happens to be a pillow-biting pansy. Now what do you think about that?"

"What?" GG looked around and gasped at the sight of the little McGucket boy bleeding on the floor. "Filly, what did you do?!"

"I gave him what he deserved!"

"What he _deserved_?" Angry tears pricked in her eyes as she looked between the three boys, one unconscious and the other two terrified. Then she met her husband's gaze and whispered, "You bastard."

Filbrick's brow raised. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a bastard! Look at what you did to our boys, your _sons!_ Look at what you did to their friend!"

"He's not their _friend,_ GG, he's-"

"I don't give a damn what he is!"

"But-

"NO! SHUT UP! If you don't let go of my Stanley in the next five seconds, I swear to God, someone's going to be cleaning your brains off the walls!"

The two were locked in an intense stare, and the longer it went on, the more Filbrick's hands shook with rage.

Until finally, he let go.

Stanley stumbled back and away from his father, Ford moving to support his brother.

"Boys, take your friend to the hospital," their mother said, and she did not have to repeat herself. Stan scooped Fiddleford off of the floor and Ford supported him as they made their way out of the shop, leaving their parents standing in silence.

Once they got to the car, Ford had to convince Stan to drive while he sat in the back attending to Fiddleford. During the drive, Stan kept looking back in the mirror, begging any god that would listen to save Fiddleford. Because hell knew that he hadn't done him any good.

…..

Fiddleford woke up to the smell of bleach and the sound of a heart monitor beeping. He opened his eyes and looked around, his vision bleary. He squinted and turned his head slowly, startling at the sight of Stanford sleeping in a chair next to his bed. The memories of the evening came rushing back and instinctively reached out and tugged on his friend's coat to wake him up.

"Huh?" Ford mumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes. "What… Oh, you're awake!" Ford's face broke into a smile. "Thank God! You have no idea how worried we were! How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a train," Fiddleford groaned. "But nevermind… Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine."

"Stanley?"

"Him too. He's off getting his nose patched up."

Assured that everyone was going to be alright, Fiddleford let out a long breath and sank back into the covers. His thoughts reeled. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? How could everything that they'd worked so hard to hide?

And how could he possibly ask either of them to be here for him?

Thinking about everything had happened was a bad idea, because soon he felt his face crumpling against his well, and a tear slid down his cheek.

"Hey, it's okay Buddy," Ford said gently, having noticed. "I know you've been through a lot, but we're here for you, okay? We're gonna get through this."

"Why?" he asked weakly.

"Huh?"

"Why are y'all doing this for me?" he managed, distress causing his accent to come on strong. "Why are y'all still here? I don't…" he paused to take in a deep, shaky breath. "I don't understand…"

Ford leaned over in his chair and put a hand on his friend's arm. "What don't you understand?" he asked gently.

"I ruined your family," Fiddleford said, his voice breaking. "I ruined everything."

"Dut up!"

This weird announcement had been issued from Stanley, who was now standing in the doorway with his nose covered in bandages. If Fiddleford hadn't been so distraught, he probably would have laughed.

"I mean it!" Stanley said, going to the other side of the bed. "Dis wadn't your fault! My dad's an addhole!"

"Okay, Stan," Ford soothed. "Remember they don't want you talking too much at first." He received a grumble in return. Ford turned back to his friend and said, "He is right though. None of this was your fault. We had no way of knowing that Dad would go home early, or that he would react so terribly, or...anything else! Granted, you guys maybe weren't as careful as you normally are, but that's hardly the issue here."

"But…"

"No duts!"

"That's right, no buts." Ford squeezed his friends shoulder as Stan took his hand. "Buddy, we're here because you're our friend, and we both care about you. Don't feel guilty about what happened - because quite frankly, if that's the way he's going to behave, I'd much rather have you in the family than him."

"Dame here!"

Fiddleford looked back and forth between the two smiling faces, one bedraggled, the other bandaged and bruised, both looking at him as if they were ready to take on the world together.

"It…" he said quietly. "It's not like we can't still go to college, right?"

"Exactly!" Ford agreed. "This doesn't mean our plans have to change."

"I'm dill driving," Stan announced, grabbing Fiddleford's hand. The two smiled at each other and Stan leaned over so that his nerd could press a kiss to forehead. Fiddleford did so and gently pulled Stan's head down to rest on his chest.

Ford leaned back in his chair, watching as his two favorite people quietly rejoiced in the fact that they hadn't lost each other. He gave a tired smile and closed his eyes.

Nope; he certainly couldn't imagine a better future for the three of them.


End file.
